Chapter Fourteen
(Meg enters)
Lizz: How'd you get out of jail?
Meg: I threatened to tell the Democrats about the hacking. It wouldn't look too good for the old Bush administration if they were trying to encourage that sort of thing.
Emma: Leigh, you can get off the phone now.
Leigh: (on phone) Come on! I'll throw my track coach into the deal. He's a real slave driver. No? How about the head coach? He has a doctorate in biology.
Sarah: Is she still talking to Ratigan?
Emma: No. I think she's talking to a nuclear physicist who has connections with Ratigan.
JWJ: What the heck does a nuclear physicist have a need for a track coach with a doctorate in biology?
Meg: I give up trying to figure out anything anymore.
One nauseous ride later we arrived at the Parisian police station.
Basil presented the papers he had taken from Marcus Colhart to the chief of police, a man named Bernair.
"Well, Monsieur Basil, this would be very useful to us if Marcus Colhart hadn't already admitted to his guilt in the death of his sister and turned himself in," said. the portly Frenchman.
"He turned himself in?" Basil asked.
"Oh yes. And you know where his brother is?"
"Contact Notre Dame."
"Bon. We are currently looking for the whereabouts of Professeur Ratigan as well."
"I can't help you there," said Basil. "He's probably fled the city."
"And Madame Havers," Bernair said to me, "we are going to have to ask you a few questions regarding the murder of Celeste, Duchess of Bachenstrauff, neƩ Colhart."
"I did not do it!" I cried. "I was framed!"
"Until we have evidence proving otherwise-"
"She did not do it," said a quiet voice behind me.
Basil and I spun around. "Dawson!"
The doctor grinned. Besides a small scar on his left cheek he looked perfectly fine. "Yes, it's me."
"You're all right!" I threw my arms around him.
Basil looked up and sighed impatiently. When I broke away from Dawson the detective shook his partner's hand, beaming. "Old friend," he said softly. "How did you find out that we were here?"
"Rahle," Dawson shrugged.
Basil and I exchanged confused glances. Rahle? He did not get involved in his clients' business. Why would he contact Dawson?
We knew, however, that Rahle would not give us any more business if we discussed this in front of the Parisian police, so we kept our mouths shut as Dawson said to Bernair "Mrs. Havers did not kill the Duchess."
"Vraiement? What evidence do you have of this?"
Dawson placed an envelope on the desk. "I got off a train earlier this evening, and made my way to l'Opera. As I was approaching, I saw the chaos created by the murder. A certain gentleman saw me and came over, asking me to deliver this letter to the police stating Meg Havers' innocence of this crime."
Bernair opened the envelope and read:
"'Megana Sarentis Havers did not murder Celeste, Duchess of Bachenstrauff. I hired Claire Prenessant of l'Opera to commit this crime. She disguised herself as Mrs. Havers to frame her for murder.
'Mlle Prenessant threw herself from the roof of l'Opera when the Parisian police came so she would not be arrested and executed for murder.
James Ratigan'"
I could have been pushed over with a feather.
"Well, this confession is evidence enough," said Bernair with a smile. "You're free to go."
Dawson listened patiently on the train as Basil and I related all that we had gone through to him. Rahle sat next to him, looking bored.
We had run into Rahle in front of the police station. Basil and I had tried to ask him why he had broken his own rules and decided to help us. "I was never paid," was all that he would say. We did not push the subject when he added that he was going to London to open up a new studio.
When we were done with our narratives Dawson told us about the night we had left London. He and Mrs. Judson had not been harmed badly. Mrs. Judson was all right, recovering at Baker Street. The little boy had pulled through as well.
"Hah! That is nothing!" Rahle said loudly. "Once I was held at knifepoint in my chambers in Paris by burglars, threatened to give up my fortune!"
I yawned and leaned against the seat of the compartment, suddenly hit by exhaustion.
Dawson laughed at the little French mouse. "By how many?" Basil let me lean my head against his shoulder.
"A dozen, at least!" Rahle responded.
"Rahle, your apartment couldn't even hold five," I muttered sarcastically, closing my eyes.
"Stay out of this, you silly girl!" he barked at me. He exclaimed to Dawson, "They almost killed me! But I was able to convince them that I had a machine gun, so they fled."
Dawson raised an eyebrow. "A machine gun?"
"Yes, a machine gun! Beat that!"
Basil placed his Inverness over both of us to use as a blanket.
"I was wounded in military service in Afghanistan. The bullet is still in my shoulder."
"That is nothing! I fought in North Africa!"
"With what army?"
"The Italians!"
"Men," I said sleepily.
"Just ignore them," Basil murmured.
"We were ambushed by the Ghazis. All but four men were killed from my outfit," said Dawson. "I was one of them."
"The Ghazis have no organization. The Ethiopians do."
"Says who?"
"Says everyone!"
The two bragging mice grew fainter and fainter as Basil and I drifted off to sleep.
Meg: I spent all of my Easter break trying to finish this. I hope you all enjoyed it; I have so much fun writing these! And I promise to work on Meg and Basil's relationship.
